It happened without a cause; it ended with little fuss. No tears, no sulk, no whine, but the heart ached quietly. Not realizing the severity until long afterwards, you try to mend, but it refuses to heal. Heart is a temperamental misfit, a wayward friend, a silent killer. Oh, the heartless heart, how can I live with you?
I read Louisa’s post on Robert Browning and was inspired, though in a heartbroken direction.